


Renfield's Waltz

by MillicentCordelia



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bizarre Fluff, Blood Fetish, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bloodletting, Dominance/submission, M/M, Paraphilic Vampirism, Sanguinarian Vampirism, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/pseuds/MillicentCordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim stared at the dripping cut. He was caught off guard, his carefully crafted defenses askew, and he reacted before he could think. He stood behind Oswald, wrapping his right arm around Oswald’s waist, pulling Oswald tightly against him. With his left hand, he gripped Oswald’s wrist, pulling the injured hand towards his face. Had anyone been watching, it would have looked as if they were about to dance, and Jim was preparing to kiss Oswald’s hand. </p>
<p>Jim pressed his lips to the wound and drank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renfield's Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> So, I tried to write a Valentine's Day Fluff, and this is what happened. What can I say-it's Gotham.
> 
> If you're faint hearted about gore, please take the warnings seriously. The actions depicted are not sanitary, and do not reflect the real life practice of sanguinarian vampirism. Human bites are dangerous; this fic references mythology, not real life. 
> 
> The idea for this fic comes from Bram Stoker's novel, "Dracula"; specifically, the passage where Jonathan Harker cuts himself while shaving and Count Dracula becomes keenly interested.
> 
> Bamonte's, the name of Don Maroni's restaurant, is a nickname for a large or strong man.

James Gordon stood in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted his tie; the one with the burgundy and gray stripes that he’d picked out to go with his charcoal suit. 

Shit. He took the tie off and threw it on the bed, onto a growing pile of ties. They’d all looked fine, but none of them were what he wanted. 

Trouble was, he didn’t know what he wanted. 

Finally, he just closed his eyes and grabbed one.  
_______________________________

It was sunset, that time of day when Gotham looked least grim. Jim and Lee were being seated at Bamonte’s, the restaurant she’d requested when he asked her out for Valentine’s Day. She looked glamorous, in a vintage pink cocktail dress and matching coat. Of course, she always looked astonishing, even in a lab coat. Jim was aware that every man in the restaurant was looking at her. 

They were having dinner early, because all the later reservations had been booked by the time he’d gotten around to calling. He’d hesitated, just like he had every time he’d asked her out-because he still wasn’t sure why they were dating. Lee had thrown herself at him, and he couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. He was lonely; she was beautiful, brilliant, and the path of least resistance. He told himself to be grateful.

“So, Detective Gordon. Here we are.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “In this lovely restaurant where we don’t have to worry about who sees you kiss me.”

Jim leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “Thanks for being understanding about how I feel about keeping work and my private life separate.” 

“I get it. You like to keep things tidy. Everything in its place, right, in its own proper compartment?”

“Something like that.” He was discovering that dating a psychiatrist made him nervous. He sometimes felt that she had him under a magnifying glass, and he was about to burst into flames.

They made small talk; he was careful to avoid talking about work, and to keep the conversation going by asking her questions about herself. Mercifully, the overly attentive waiter-obviously campaigning for a hefty tip-never seemed to leave them alone for too long. Jim wanted a real drink-or ten-but he nursed his glass of wine, wanting to keep his head clear so he wouldn’t fumble the ball later. He figured he already knew how the evening was going to end, and he wanted to remain clear-headed.

He ordered his steak rare, and was gratified at how it bled all over his plate. Lee was telling him something about her younger sister, who was also a doctor. He was nodding in what he thought were all the right places...

“So then, after she got thrown out of that first med school for being a cannibal, she had a terrible time at the second, what with those two artificial legs of hers and the fact that she insisted on attending classes stark naked.”

“What?!?” Oh, crap. His attention had wandered. “I’m sorry, Lee, I was a million miles away. 

“I noticed. What’s bothering you?”

“I let work creep into my mind. The Cranes-how much I hated we had to kill Crane, and how awful I feel for his son. That poor kid’s life is ruined.” Good save, Jimmy boy. It was a lie, but a plausible one.

Lee patted his hand sympathetically. “I know. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, myself. It’s tough.” 

After dessert, she excused herself to the ladies’ room; Jim leaned back in his chair and tried to relax. 

The truth was, he’d been thinking about Oswald, who’d been the manager at Bamonte’s until just recently. A dozen times, at least, he thought he’d seen Oswald, out of the corner of his eye- then remembered he didn’t work for Maroni any more. Just as well-Jim felt hollow and disconnected enough as it was. The thought of Oswald observing him on a date with Lee was.......

“Detective Gordon! What a tribute it is to my humble establishment, that you honor me with your presence on this special evening.” Don Maroni was beaming down at him. Great. Just what Jim needed.

“It’s a hell of a restaurant. The food is excellent.” Well, that sounded stupid. 

Maroni kept grinning. “So glad you think so! It’s a shame your good friend doesn’t work here any more.”

Jim’s face turned grim, and he clenched his fists under the table. “He’s not my friend.”

“ I didn’t mean anything by that.” Maroni shrugged. “Any cop with good sense keeps a few snitches on the payroll. You couldn’t do your job without them. But here’s a word of advice.” He leaned down and dropped his voice. “ That lying little bitch has a shelf life. I promised Don Falcone I’d leave him alone, but Don Falcone won’t live forever. So if I were you, I’d diversify-collect a few more snitches for myself. Just so you’ll have some back-ups for the day when that one disappears.” Maroni stood up. “Enjoy your meal.”

‘I know what I’d enjoy, best of all,’ Jim thought. ‘Stuffing your dead body down a well.’  
_______________________________________________

As expected, he finally got to see Lee’s apartment-specifically, the bedroom. He tried not to dwell on why he felt like he was about to be stood up in front of a firing squad, when in reality he was about to fall into bed with a young, desirable woman. Again, he reminded himself to be grateful. 

He worked at coming across as sensitive and accommodating. He paid attention to what she seemed to like, asked her what she wanted, spent a lavish amount of time on foreplay, and produced the obligatory condom at the right moment. He managed to get it up and keep it up by focusing on memories of pornography he’d recently looked at on the web. He made sure that she had an orgasm, and explained away his inability to climax. He told her that whenever he slept with a new girlfriend, it took a few times before he was able to get off with that person. She seemed to buy his explanation. 

Being with Lee wasn’t unpleasant; he just didn’t feel any fire for her. 

He hoped that after having sex with her on a regular basis, they’d become comfortable with each other; settle into a routine that provided both of them with some satisfaction, before she noticed how detached he was. Getting that awkward first time out of the way was a relief. 

She gave him an easy out when it came to spending the night, said she was tired, it had been a long week.  
____________________________________________  
When he walked out the front door of her apartment building, he felt happier than he had all evening. A burden had been lifted. He’d done what he felt was expected of him, and it was barely eleven. A light snow was falling. He started walking, enjoying the crisp air. 

He thought about Barbara, and how much he missed her. Not because he’d ever been madly in love with her, but because she was so generous and non-judgmental. She was a bi-polar alcoholic who belonged to the “first church of recreational drug use.” These were attributes, from Jim’s point of view-because it meant that he could focus on her problems, and ignore his own. Barbara had never challenged Jim, or demanded much from him. He was afraid that the opposite would be true with Lee, and that was what made him doubt the thing with Lee was going to work.

Life had been easier when he was in the army. Simpler, less confusing. 

A car drove by slowly, pulling a sled with some teenagers on it. He shook his head-what a brain-dead thing to do. He remembered being 16, drinking with friends, and falling off a sled under similar circumstances. He’d rolled into a curb, and ended up with a mouthful of blood and a broken tooth. It had seemed hilarious until he sobered up. 

He remembered the taste of the blood-how startled he had been. It wasn’t metallic, or disgusting, as he’d expected. It was sweet.

He needed to stop thinking about that. 

What he did think about was how he’d love to have those real drinks he’d denied himself earlier. Didn’t much want to drink alone, though. And there was something that’d been bothering him...........he felt the urge to apologize about something.,

Before he knew it, the cab was dropping him off in front of “Oswald’s”. The sign said, “Closed”. He frowned, knocked on the front door. Gabriel swung the door open. “Evening, Detective Gordon. Come on in.” Gabriel lumbered towards the back. “Hey, Boss. Somebody to see you.”

Oswald walked out from behind the bar. “James! Old friend! It’s so good to see you!” His face lit up, and he grasped Jim’s hand. 

Jim felt the same electricity he’d felt at the police station a week earlier, and hastily disentangled his hand. “So how’re things with the club? You seem to be closed kinda early.”

“Actually, tonight was wonderful! We were packed earlier-the best night we’ve had so far. It was all couples, though, and they were pretty much gone by ten. We had a pianist singing old romantic standards-the customers seemed to love it. What do you think of the new décor?” He was chattering a mile a minute, clearly over the moon with excitement at seeing Jim. 

Jim couldn’t help but smile. It was incongruous, to see someone who looked so dark and Goth, wriggling like a happy puppy. Not to mention-it was nice to feel wanted. “The décor? Yeah, I like it. I came by to apologize-for not making it to your grand opening. It was the same evening Harvey and I had that shoot out at the Crane place......”

“No worries! I knew you would have come if you could.” Oswald called out to Gabriel. “Gabe! You can go, I’ll be fine. Detective Gordon and I will leave together.”

He turned to Jim. “Gabe worries about me. Would you like a drink? On the house?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Listen, there’s something else......I also need to apologize for what I said. About not wanting your help. I was being an ungrateful asshole, and I’m sorry. You helped me out, and I was a jerk. You’ve been a friend to me, and all I’ve done is treat you like...well I’m just sorry, that’s all,” he finished lamely. 

“It’s OK, really! What would you like to drink?”

Jim felt guilty that it didn’t seem to matter what he said. He could have said: Y’know, I thought I’d drop by, backhand you across the face, beat the crap out of you, spit on you, and leave you out by the side of the road in the snow. Oswald would still have been overjoyed to see him. 

“Um, bourbon, on the rocks. So, tell me what’s been going on with your life?” Jim wasn’t asking because he felt he ought to. He wanted to know.

Oswald launched into a tale of several near death experiences at the hands of Fish Mooney and Don Maroni. It was clear to Jim that without Don Falcone’s protection, Oswald would be dead. No wonder Oswald had busted butt to rise through the ranks. It increased his chances of living to see another day.

When Oswald asked Jim the same question, Jim responded with several hilarious, off color stories about Harvey Bullock; and the depressing story of what’d happened with the Cranes. He then described how he was now persona non grata at Wayne manor.

“Bruce has completely lost faith in me. I don’t blame him. Barbara, too, I guess. I was hoping we could remain friends, at least, but I don’t even know where she is. And tonight, I went out with our new coroner, Lee. She’ll probably end up hating me, too.”

“I don’t understand, James. Why would this...person end up hating you?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what I want, and I’m an idiot.”

“I think you’re a very nice idiot. I’m glad you’re here”. Oswald didn’t meet Jim’s eyes. “Can I give you the grand tour?”

Oswald led Jim through the club, animatedly describing the trials and tribulations of dealing with contractors, interior designers, and employees. Jim felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. It was a relief to talk, just talk, without worrying about the reaction provoked by every single word; without second guessing what someone else was thinking. They ended up back at the bar; talking about horror movies, and sci-fi novels, and comic books -Oswald was also a collector, and Jim was pleased to find they had that in common. Jim felt no pressure to be anyone except himself; he was feeling, almost, like a real human being. 

Oswald was freshening Jim’s drink when he knocked off a glass that fell and shattered.  
“Ow! That was clumsy of me.”

Jim stepped behind the bar. “Everything Ok? You need some help?”

“I’m fine, some of the glass flew up and cut my hand.... my own fault...” Oswald was holding his left hand out, away from his suit. There was a gash on top of his hand, between the thumb and index finger, that was bleeding. He moved towards the sink.

Jim stared at the dripping cut. He was caught off guard, his carefully crafted defenses askew, and he reacted before he could think. He stood behind Oswald, wrapping his right arm around Oswald’s waist, pulling Oswald tightly against him. With his left hand, he gripped Oswald’s wrist, pulling the injured hand towards his face. Had anyone been watching, it would have looked as if they were about to dance, and Jim was preparing to kiss Oswald’s hand. 

Jim pressed his lips to the wound and drank. 

Jim’s field of vision went white for a moment; a brilliant, blinding, white. He felt himself falling, and when he hit the ground, there was an explosion, and the whole world was wet, and warm, and red. Energy was flowing into him, sparking from one nerve ending to the next; looping through his body until his circuits were overloaded with sensation. The luscious taste bloomed in his mouth, kicking the animal part of his brain into high gear; a growl resonated deep in his throat. He rubbed the length of his body against Oswald as he swallowed.

This was what he wanted, needed; this was what he had been denied. He broke contact with the wound, and spun his prey around. He ripped open Oswald’s shirt, sending buttons flying, and jammed their mouths together in a parody of a kiss. Shoving his tongue between Oswald’s teeth, he made him taste his own blood, before assaulting his neck-sucking and biting, not hard enough to draw more blood, but enough to make Oswald shudder and moan. 

After a few minutes, Jim regained some semblance of sanity, and pulled back.

Oswald was panting, his pupils dilated, his eyes fixed on Jim. There was blood smeared all over his mouth and pale, slender neck; the collar of his torn shirt was stained red. He looked like he was going into shock. 

Oh, no, no, Jim thought, oh fucking hell, I’ve hurt him. 

Oswald allowed himself to be drawn into an embrace while Jim attempted to soothe him. “Should have asked permission, Didn’t mean to frighten you, Can only imagine what you’re thinking...............”

“James?” Oswald managed to squeak.

“Yes?”

“Is this going to involve the removal of clothing? Because there’s a room upstairs with a bed with a brand new mattress, and I feel a little dizzy right now, but I absolutely do want to do whatever it is you have in mind, there’s new blankets and pillows too, and....and....”

“Shhh...” Jim shushed him. “C’mere”. He carefully licked every speck of blood from Oswald’s mouth and neck, lapping at him like a mother cat cleaning a kitten, then kissed him tenderly. “If we go upstairs, I’ll want to bite you. You need to understand that’s what’s going to happen. I can leave right now if you want me to.”

Oswald clung to him. “Please don’t go. I’m yours, I’m all yours. I’ll do anything for you, anything that you want." 

Quelle surprise.

The upstairs room was spare and neat. There was one small, narrow window near the top of the wall on the street side that let in a bluish light. Oswald cleared his throat “This was one of the rooms where the dancers brought customers. I had it cleaned up.”

Jim pulled open the nightstand drawer. “You forgot to clean this out. There’s lube and some toys in here.” He tossed his wallet and watch aside, and started shedding his clothes.

“Those...are my things.” Oswald sounded embarrassed. “I sleep here sometimes.”

“Oh yeah? And just what do you do with those things?” Jim dropped the rest of his clothes on the floor, and pulled Oswald onto the bed. He took his time, gently undressing the smaller man, making sure not to rush him.

Oswald looked at Jim. “Don’t you know?” 

“Ok, smartass, touché. So tell me, what do you think about when you play with your toys?”

“You. I think about you.” Even in the dim light, Jim could see that Oswald’s face was beet red. 

Jim pushed Oswald onto the bed, and sniffed his hair. “I like the sound of that.” He ran his nails down Oswald’s back, making him shiver. “Here. Show me.” He pressed the lube into Oswald’s hand. “Show me how you open yourself with your fingers.”

Oswald started to say something, but Jim stopped him. “Hush, just do it”. 

Oswald pressed his hand between his butt cheeks, rubbing himself, before pushing one finger inside. He moved it in and out, added another finger, and groaned. Jim rocked him onto his side, and reached around to grasp his cock. Oswald sucked in his breath, pushing eagerly into Jim’s hand. 

“That’s it,” Jim murmured. “Make yourself feel good.” Jim licked and sucked at the back of Oswald’s neck, smelling and tasting him, savoring the pheromones and the salt on his skin. He tasted like fear and sex and desperation, and it made Jim insane with hunger. Oswald whimpered as Jim began nipping at him, his teeth sharp and insistent, marking Oswald’s back-bruising the skin but not breaking it open. Not yet.

Finally, Jim moved Oswald’s hand out of the way. “My turn, now.” He positioned him face down; with one hand he slipped a finger into Oswald’s mouth; with the other he lined his swollen cock up with his lover’s entrance and shoved himself inside. Oswald sucked frantically at Jim’s fingers, as he felt himself penetrated so deeply it was almost painful. “Dear God, you’re tight,” Jim whispered. He searched with his lips until he found the perfect spot between Oswald’s neck and shoulder, and bit into the soft, yielding flesh. Instantly, his mouth filled; he sucked, almost choking on the sweetness, overwhelmed by the blissful sensation of warmth flowing down his throat. His tongue invaded the wound; he was distantly aware that Oswald had panicked, and was struggling to get away from him, but he held him down and rutted into him as he drank. Blood dripped between them, smearing across Oswald’s back and Jim’s torso. He managed to keep his mouth on the torn flesh as Oswald writhed and pushed back against him.

Jim abruptly pulled out, rolled Oswald over and pushed into him again, kissing him open mouthed and messily. He mouthed Oswald’s throat as he pounded him, feeling the pulse throbbing against his lips, savoring the helplessness of the man panting beneath him. Pinpricks of light exploded behind his eyes as Oswald screamed, spilling across his chest. Jim opened his eyes to see what looked like a crime scene, with blood splattered everywhere; the sight of it sent him over the edge. His body convulsed, pumping so hard it hurt, and it went on and on until he thought he was going to black out.

A red mist enveloped him. His heart stopped. He was falling again, the bed rushing up to meet him. He couldn’t breathe, every muscle in his body was spasming, and when he hit bottom he inhaled-the overpowering smell of gore and gunpowder and graveyard dust. 

He gasped, gulping for air; realized that he and Oswald were shaking, and holding onto each other. 

Poor Oswald-he looked like an extra in a slasher movie, except the blood wasn’t fake and it was his. After a while, he stopped trembling, and snuggled into Jim’s embrace. Jim got up the nerve to say something.

“So. How are you feeling about a second date? ‘Cause I promise I won’t bite you every time we make love. Honest.”

Jim was thankful that Oswald laughed. “Do you do this.....on a regular basis?”

“Hell, no. I knew a guy-when I was in the army. He had the same kink. We used to taste each other’s blood; and yes, we had sex. But that was years ago, and it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t emotional like this.”

“This is something special, then? I’d like to have something special with you.”

Jim stopped and looked at Oswald’s face. What he saw was how much Oswald trusted him, how much he cared, how much this mattered, how much he wanted Jim. It frightened Jim, but he couldn’t turn away, not this time. He was tired of not feeling anything, of being numb, of being alone.

He knew what he wanted. He wanted Oswald.

“Yeah. This is special. You’re special.” He kissed Oswald’s forehead. “How about we get some sleep. Then tomorrow morning, we can get a hot shower and take a cab to my place; I’ll make pancakes for you. Do you like pancakes?”

“Love....pancakes......ummmmm.” Oswald was out cold.

Jim lay awake a little while longer. He was going to have to tell Lee something diplomatic-along the lines of “It isn’t you, it’s me.” He had a feeling she’d be more relieved than hurt. He nuzzled the top of Oswald’s head; his hair was so soft............

Outside, the snow swirled and danced, settling it’s icy embrace over Gotham. Just for a moment, everything was peaceful.


End file.
